


how a storm is formed

by malo_malo



Category: Circle of Magic - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Childhood, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malo_malo/pseuds/malo_malo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things wrong in the city of Ninver, the weather for one, the Chandlers for another, but Tris grows up anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how a storm is formed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidsamfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/gifts).



> Content warnings are at the end for those that need them.

The only remarkable thing about Trisana Chandler's birth was that there wasn't anything particularly remarkable about it. The weather outside was brisk and chilly, and so the citizens of Ninver scurried from place to place when they ventured outside, trying to outdo the wind, red-cheeked and full of excuses not to chat when they ran into those that they know--not that there were many of those, Ninver isn't known for being a welcoming city--but that was only to be expected at this time of year. It wasn't as if it were snowing, though the elderly, as they did every year, took the opportunity to tell all that would listen about the blizzards of 963 and 977. Those that came from more Northern climes delighted in wearing summer clothes and proclaiming that it wasn't really winter until water froze. Native Ninverians found the foreigners endlessly annoying, but took great joy, in turn, in their discomfort during the summer.

When the girl child, after about six hours of labor, was finally, thank Urda, placed in her mother's arms, she looked almost as if she belonged with the population of Ninver forced out into the cold. Her face was red and twisted with anger and she refused all attempts to calm her. Her mother was relieved when, after a few unbearable moments, the midwife snatched the child back out of her arms to wash and swaddle her properly.

By the time Valden Chandler wandered in to be acquainted with his first child, Darra was close to tears with the effort of trying to get her baby to nurse from her. The baby resolutely refused to open her mouth, no matter how much anyone tried to entice her, and squirmed, clearly unhappy.

"There you go, easy now," the midwife babbled at both Tris and Darra, trying to soothe both of them with a calm tone, "sometimes it just takes babies a bit to understand what you want from them. Don't go rushing it, when they're hungry it'll--"

She broke off at the sight of Valden and started to flutter around the room grabbing various tools and placing them elsewhere seemingly at random. "Oh sir, they're not quite ready for you yet. If you wait, I'll get them all prepared," she addressed him while quickly bundling a bloody length of cloth up and dropping it into her bag, "I'll send my assistant out to get you."

Valden continued to walk forward towards the bed, his only acknowledgement of the midwife's word a glance at the corner of the room where a meek girl with blood all down her apron quivered and looked ill, to the distress of all of the women in the room. When he stood over the bed, the baby looked up at him startled, perhaps at the change in lighting, and began to wail in earnest again.

"It's a girl then," he asked his wife. She nodded in reply, spending most of her energy trying desperately not to join the baby in crying. They'd both hoped that the baby would be a boy and then there wouldn't be any question about their heir. Not that a woman couldn't head the family--they weren't from Janaal--just that it was easier for a man, and neither of them relished the idea of having another child.

However, Darra and Valden were Chandlers through and through and knew what was owed to the house. Second cousins once removed, they had married at the urging of their parents, since both of them had gotten on in years without managing to make a match that would further the interests of House Chandler and the best they could then hope for was one that kept money within the family. They had known each other from early childhood, and while they certainly didn't have a great passion for one another, they got along well enough. It could have been worse.

"Trisana Chandler, then, after our great aunt," Valden mummered, looking down at the baby, barely able to be heard over her screams, "we can call her Tris." Darra's face twisted with displeasure. In the old Kurchal tradition, it was bad luck to say a name for a baby out loud until it was a week old, but the Living Circle dedicates had recently pushed for it to be disregarded. Valden embraced everything modern wholeheartedly, but Darra thought that it couldn't hurt to sometimes obey the old Kurchal gods in little, harmless things. After all, while the sun had continued to rise when the old priests had stopped performing their rites, the gods had retaliated by making sure that the sun would never rise on the Kurchal Empire again.

Anyway, the baby was less than an hour old, and she'd already had enough trouble with it, why invite more? At that, the midwife again materialized, holding her apprentice firmly by the elbow with one hand and her bag in the other to announce that they would be leaving.

"You haven't even finished showing me how to nurse," Darra said, plaintively.

"You'll figure it out," the midwife said, "now we've got to go to another birth across town, and, begging your pardon, you can afford to hire someone to help out with that if you need."

"Are you sure you need to leave now?" Valden asked, his hand going to his purse.

"This one," the midwife jerked her head at the apprentice, "knows when babies are coming, and she says we need to go _now_. It's the only reason I put up with how she's only just stopped fainting at the sight of blood. Sometimes I wonder why Yanna Healtouch blessed her so, but it's not up to me to question it." The midwife and her apprentice hurried out leaving only the baby behind as evidence that they had even been there at all.

Finally, Tris quieted, having tired herself out, and allowed her mother to nurse her to her mother's palpable relief.

"Do you think you'll need to hire a wet-nurse? We have the coin." Valden interrupted.

Darra paused, considering. She was in charge of the household accounts and knew down to the penny how much money they had to spend. They could more than bear the expense, but she wasn't sure that they could bear the shame of spending money they didn't have to.

"No," Darra said, "If my idiot sister can bring up five children by herself, then I can handle one child." _Please, gods, let me be able to handle one child by myself_ , she added silently, giving her husband a watery smile. He reached down and laid his hand gently on the baby's cheek, and, at that moment, all three of them were united in their calm, the picture of a perfect family.

~~~

 _It's windier in Ninver than normal, but only the sailors and the merchants notice, and they don't make much of it. As long as ships don't sink, who cares about the weather?  
_

~~~

"Trisana Chandler, what are you doing?" Darra yelled. Tris, casually, pulled her hand out of the fireplace and presented the coal she was holding to her mother.

"No! Put it back!" Darra shouted. Tris frowned, but obeyed. Darra rushed forward and grabbed Tris roughly by the forearms, turning her hands palm up, ignoring Tris's shocked tears. At the sight of her unblemished hands, Darra sat back on her heels and made the god's circle on her chest. Tris continued to wail, but her mother made no move to comfort her.

Everything had gone wrong for Darra since Tris's birth, or, at least, everything had seemed to. She hadn't been prepared for what it meant to have a child, to have to put aside everything she wanted to do for another person, and Tris didn't make her sacrifice easy. She fussed constantly and didn't sleep through the night until well after she turned two. Now, Tris questioned everything, _everything_ made her ask 'why?' or 'how?' until Darra felt that she wanted to rip her own hair out. And when Darra inevitably ran into the limits of her knowledge, Tris had started throwing temper tantrums. Darra felt awful about resenting her daughter's curiosity, since it indicated that she'll probably be an asset to the House, but it was taking everything in her not to scream back at Tris or join her in frustrated tears.

But she could handle all of this and more if it wasn't for the unsettling things that happened around Tris. Ever since her birth, the house had become unaccountably drafty. That certainly was welcome during the muggy summer months, but they had paid for several carpenters to look over the house to no avail, and it was embarrassing when guests came over and looked uncomfortable at the chill. However, she wouldn't have thought much of it if it wasn't for the fact that it somehow became windier when Tris was upset.

The first time she noticed the trend was when Tris had thrown herself on the ground screaming, because she didn't want to put on her coat. Darra remembered that the day had been cold but still, since she'd checked right before trying to attempt to wrangle Tris into a jacket; Tris had been going through a phase where she refused to wear anything more than a light dress even though it was the dead of winter, but whined intolerably when she inevitably got cold. Darra had wanted to make extra sure the battle was necessary before engaging in it.

Darra had turned around momentarily to compose herself when she noticed the letters sitting on the basket next to the door fluttering as if in a sudden wind. All of a sudden, they flew out on to the floor at the same as her skirt began to violently flap against her legs. She immediately looked to find Tris in the center of what seemed to be a small tornado with the letters whirling around her. Darra ran forward and held Tris until it quieted, worried at first that they were the target of some sort of magical attack from one of House Chandler's many rivals. It wasn't until the next time--Tris had decided she didn't _want_ to take a bath and a waterspout formed in the tub--that Darra noticed the connection.

When she had tentatively brought it up to her husband over a late dinner, he had first laughed at her. When he realized that she was serious, he suggested that she get out of the house more and maybe visit her ailing mother. Darra noted that he didn't propose that she help with the House's current project to lower the import taxes on goods fromKarang, even though she had always been one of the best at politics and the associated schmoozing. Or, at least, she had been before she'd had a baby and hadn't been allowed to forget it.

Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be convinced that it was just stress, and dutifully made the rounds with her older relations, including with Valden's unpleasant sister Uraelle. And when it happened again and again, until Darra had to admit that something was wrong, she started to think she was mad. After all, nobody but her ever saw the winds; Tris never acknowledged anything beyond her own rage when she was having a breakdown, and the servants wouldn't admit that they'd seen anything particularly out of the ordinary about her. Valden certainly wouldn't have noticed. He had started spending more and more of time out of the house, and Darra couldn't bring herself to care that much about it. It was almost a relief to have a reason for why she was so monstrous that she could barely stand to be around her own child.

She endured Tris and her fits, keeping the secret of her madness close, only allowing herself to wallow in those thoughts in the dark privacy of her room--her husband hadn't sought her out there for a year, seemingly happy with only having one child, or one legitimate child, her mind whispered, he could marry again when she's locked up somewhere far away--until the day it extended beyond wind.

Darra had been mechanically picking at her lunch as Tris enthusiastically devoured her own food next to her. The new maid who'd been tidying something or other, suddenly knocked against the table just as Tris went to drink from her cup. Instead, the glass fell over, spilling water all over Tris's plate. Tris, shocked, began to cry loudly. The maid hurried over and began to try to soothe her, while Darra tried to scramble around for something to mop up the mess. Tris absolutely refused to be pacified, and the maid's efforts only seemed to make her more upset.

As Darra finally found something suitable to throw over the table in an attempt to forestall stains, the maid yelped in surprise, jerked her hand away from Tris's back, which she had been rubbing in an attempt to calm her, and stuck her finger in her mouth. Before Darra could ask what had happened, she noticed that Tris's always unruly hair was standing on end and seemed to be giving off sparks. Darra and the maid simultaneously made the god's circle on their chests and slowly backed away.

Later, the maid had given her notice while sobbing and babbling about how she'd always known there was something unnatural about that child, and she wouldn't spend another moment near that. Darra nodded, outwardly composed, but as soon as the former maid fled, she retired to her room, leaving Tris in the hands of the cook. She thought and thought, and the only conclusion that made any sense was that somehow Tris was at fault, that there was something wrong with her child and not with her.

It didn't end with the lighting either. One day, Valden had decided that he wanted to be a father and spend some time with Tris one on one, something that never turned out well. Darra always had to comfort both of them afterwards, since Tris found her father unsettling, which wasn't surprising since she barely interacted with him, and Valden always got upset that she wouldn't act how he thought a daughter should towards her father. On this day, everything had been going surprisingly well; he'd decided to read to her, an activity that Tris always enjoyed, and deigned to let her pick out the books.

But then Tris had wanted him to reread one of them, and he refused. She'd predictably started throwing a temper tantrum, and, instead of leaving her to it as Darra had started doing, he began to scream at her about how she was ungrateful. Even Darra could tell that his response was unwarranted and inappropriate toward such a young child. Tris, instead of cowering in fear, like Darra wanted to, only got angrier and stomped her feet even harder against the floor. However, that sound was quickly drowned out, when hail began to fiercely fall on the roof.

Valden started shouting even louder to compensate for the noise as did Tris. But when some of the hailstones broke through the window, only he quieted, more concerned with the potential cost of fixing the window than his impertinent daughter. Eventually Tris soothed herself, and the hail stopped.

"Do you know how much it will cost to replace these windows? Glass is expensive," he said to himself, looking at the damage.

"I think she did it," Darra interrupted, "I think the hail came because of her."

Valden stopped and came over to look at her. "You're serious. That doesn't make sense," he replied, ever the rationalist.

"It started when she was upset and stopped when she wasn't. There was that thing with the maid, and the wind, I told you about the wind," Darra said.

They argued for a while. Darra got increasingly incoherent until she burst into frustrated tears which only seemed to make him ridicule her more. Tris paid no attention to her parents. She was completely enraptured with one of the hailstones and cradled it to her chest like a doll, stroking it gently as if to calm it.

At least after that Valden had spent more time at home with Tris. He had decided that Darra wasn't fully to be trusted with the care of Tris, and Darra was too relieved to feel any sort of insult to her mothering skills. It wasn't long until he saw another event and another and soon he too was convinced.

However, he didn't see things the way that Darra did. She saw the problem of Tris as something to get through, much like motherhood itself, but Valden thought that it could be fixed somehow.

"We should get her tested for magic," he proposed in the middle of a private supper, not long after Tris had turned three. She'd been sent to bed early without food as punishment for causing a breeze that disrupted all of her father's private papers. "If it is that," he paused for a long moment, "then, well, we should pray it's that."

It wasn't.

They brought her secretly to one of the dedicates at the temple that had a reputation for knowing what to do with cases of possession. It wasn't that either.

So Valden started punishing her whenever he noticed something strange about the weather, in attempt to subvert it. That didn't help at all, especially since he started to lash out at her whenever he felt stressed and unhappy, which was often, since two of the ships he'd invested heavily in had sunk and import taxes from Karang had actually increased.

Tris was, if anything, getting worse. After another hailstorm, Valden, terrified but unwilling to admit it, went to talk to the head of House Chandler about something of their problems with Tris. It was decided that some other relations should take Tris in for a time to give her parents a break. The implication was so that they could see how ridiculous they were being, but if Valden noticed the subtext, he didn't seem to care. Darra did.

It was traditional for children to spend some of their time with other families in the House to foster better bonds and to help out the elderly, but not when they were so young. Darra couldn't stand the thought of losing face with the family and could already almost hear her sister's gloating remarks. She pleaded with Valden until he relented. They would wait, but only if she didn't break anything expensive and didn't cause any new kinds of problem, and then only until she was six.

This then with the fire was the last straw. Darra felt almost free as she straightened up. It would be worth everything anybody would say about her if only she could be free of her daughter and the fear that she inspired in her.

"Tris, stop crying," she said and continued without waiting for Tris's attention, "you're going to be visiting your cousins for a while. Go collect the toys you want. Not too many, there won't be much room."

~~~

 _All of a sudden it becomes all the rage to talk about the weather in Ninver. The farmers talk at the market with the craftsmen about the abnormal amount of hail, the craftsmen speak with the sailors about the amount of wind, and the sailors discuss the increasing numbers of thunderstorms with the merchants._ _It's not that they're worried, not yet, nothing bad can be attributed to it, but it unsettles them._ _The only group silent about the weather is the nobles, and that's because the formerly innocuous topic has suddenly become somewhat controversial. They chat about chocolate and tomatoes instead, the newest foods imported from the far side of the Endless Ocean. Sandrilene fa Toren is unbearably bored by the conversations of the grownups when she passes through with her parents on the way to Namorn, though she will admit a certain fondness for chocolate when pressed.  
_

 _~~~_

For the third night in a row, when Tris went back to her room to sleep, she found a dead rat laid neatly on her pillow. At first, she had pretended that the cat, Pride--named after his most distinguishing attribute by her least favorite cousin bar none--had left it there for her as a token of his affection, and gingerly moved the pillow to the floor and endeavored to sleep without it. But, after the second day, it was clear that this was done deliberately and by someone human.

Last night she had gone and cried, curled up around the cat for some form of comfort, but tonight she mainly felt anger. It was obvious that this was supposed to be a nasty symbol that she wouldn't be staying here for much longer; her cousins would never have dared to do something like this if they weren't absolutely sure that they wouldn't be punished. Normally, she would be distraught at the thought of leaving once more, but this house was the worst, mainly because of Anntana, the meanest cousin she'd yet encountered and undoubtedly the mastermind behind this prank.

Anntana had made it clear that she disliked everything about Tris from the moment they'd met. She was the absolute apple of her parents' eyes, and, so, Tris had hated her back in turn. Anntana mercilessly mocked everything that Tris did and was, from her constant reading to her weight to her newly needed glasses to little things like how Tris had difficultly tying her shoes and how her sheet corners were still a little sloppy when she made her bed.

Once, when they'd all gone to the market for a practical lesson about haggling, Anntana had drawn Tris away from the rest of the group by stealing the penny that Tris had been given and telling her that she'd give it back if Tris came with her. Tris had been almost giddy with the idea that she could spend the coin however she'd wished, and, even though she didn't relish the thought of spending time alone with her, didn't make much of a fuss. Tris knew that if she did, Anntana would find a way to twist it back on her somehow.

The thing that Anntana wanted Tris to see so badly was a number of people in cages. Most of them were highly agitated, screaming or rattling the bars or, in one gruesome case, hitting their head rhythmically against the floor--Tris could see blood--but a few sat still, rocking back and forth. All of their clothes were threadbare and hung off their emaciated bodies, as if they'd been wearing the same clothes since they'd been imprisoned and they hadn't been fed enough.

"You know who they put in those cages?" Anntana whispered into her ear, holding her hand. Tris shook her head, trying to pull away from her, but Anntana's grip was relentless.

"They put people like you in there," she said and abruptly released Tris. Afterwards she didn't Tris her money back, instead, Anntana bought a piece of maple candy with it and ate it in front of her. Afterwards she offered Tris a lick of her fingers so that she could get a taste of it and was absolutely livid when Tris refused.

Anyway, now she was used to it. This was the fifth house she'd lived in in three years, and Tris knew how to tell when she'd be sent away. She'd given up on finding a place where she could belong somewhere around the third, or, at least, that's what she told herself. She mostly hoped that her parents would come take her away from it all. Anntana also took great joy in saying that Tris's parents didn't want her, but Tris didn't let herself think that was true. They would take her back soon, they had to. She had to be running out of relatives to go to, and they were her parents. Parents loved their children, she was sure of it.

She hugged her last remaining doll and decided to go outside where she could be angry in private. Uncle Furin acted as if her anger was a personal insult and always assigned her more chores after giving her a lecture about how she should be glad that the Chandlers haven't thrown her out on the streets where either she'd starve or wish that she had. He also seemed to have some sort of second sense about when she was mad, always seeking her out no matter how well she'd hid her rage or herself. Not that she was very good at doing either.

It wasn't until she was almost outside that she consciously registered that the reason she was drawn outdoors was the wind. It was howling fiercely and throwing itself gleefully against the house, making all the shutters rattle, and Tris couldn't help but be a little cheered by it. She'd always loved storms, the stronger, the better, and if she was going to calm down before Uncle Furin could appear and make her scrub the floors, the wind was her best bet.

After only a few minutes of standing in the place on the property Tris knew got the most amount of wind, she felt better and turned to go back inside. The penalty for being angry would be nothing next the punishment for leaving the house after bed time. As she opened the door, a great gust of wind blew over her, as if to entice her to stay outside with it, and almost deafened her.

Unlike a normal breeze, she could hear quite clearly hear voices, voices she'd never heard before. Tris could barely make anything out of the cacophony except for some words she'd get her ears boxed for repeated. Her cheeks burning, as if she did something wrong just listening to them, she hurried back to her room. It was a good night; Pride had eaten the rat before she returned, and Uncle Furin never came to punish her. Tris could almost overlook how she would be leaving again soon.

~~~  
 _A great mage is called from Lightsbridge, famous for breaking curses and infamous for making them, to see if a curse has been placed on Ninver. Some of the mages of Capchen suspect Janaal, some Traders_ _, but most suspect Namorn, home of Ishabal Ladyhammer, the best cursemaker in the known lands. He doesn't find anything. This is widely considered evidence of Namorn's guilt, to the point where relations sour slightly. Niklaren Goldeye is also asked to come look at the city, but he declines. If there were a curse able to affect the weather on such a large scale, they wouldn't need him to see the magic; it'd be so apparent even hedge witches would catch glimpses of it out of the corner of their eyes.  
_

~~~

"Trisana, come closer to the bed," Aunt Uraelle said in her most waspish tone, "I'm an old, bedridden woman, I shouldn't have to shout to talk to you. And don't slouch."

Tris meekly went over to her--after three years she knew what was expected of her--and then stood slightly too close to her aunt as her small rebellion. It meant that she could smell Aunt Uraelle and her scent of mildew and vinegar more strongly, but the whole house reeked of both, so she could bear its increased intensity. At this point, Tris also smelled of it when she went out, and it galled her when the shopkeepers she bought from wrinkled their nose when doing business with her.

Aunt Uraella frowned at her, but continued without rebuking her. "I'm dying. I know I have said that in the past, but it's true now. When you were out buying food for supper, I had a healer come by and look at me. Send for the family. I'm not going to spend my last days with only you and that lazy girl for company. And I don't want you giving me any trouble about it. This House has provided for you. You'd be out on the streets if it weren't for us! And how do you repay me? By eating me out of house and home, that's how!"

Tris tuned her out at that point; she'd heard that speech many times before and there was no need to attend to her aunt when she launched into it. She was much more concerned with the thought that soon her family would be flocking to pay their last respects to Aunt Uraelle. Tris knew that her aunt had quite a lot of money squirreled away--not that you could tell from how she pinched every penny of it until it screamed--and that she also didn't have a will, so they were sure to be inundated with people hoping to have some of it bestowed on them.

In a small corner of her heart, Tris hoped that some of it would be given to her, but living with her aunt had made it obvious that that was very unlikely. In all the years that she had lived with her, Aunt Uraelle had never once thanked Tris for any of the things that she did for her aunt. To be fair to her aunt, she did provide her with the most stable home since childhood, and she never seemed that bothered by the strange things that made everybody else cast her out. And she had taught Tris many valuable skills about how to run a house, but she'd never been kind about it, and she treated Tris as an imposition at best.

"Trisana! Have you been listening? I swear, you've taken years off my life. If it weren't for you, I'd live longer and be richer for it," Aunt Uraelle said, "and go tell that girl she's fired. One of the family will clean when they come, I'm sure of it." Tris left, eager for any excuse to escape her aunt, and went to go seek out 'that girl'.

'That girl' was actually the woman, Anlye, who came in three times a week and did some of the cleaning. When Tris had first come to live with her aunt, Anlye had been quite kind to her, bringing her small treats that she'd made and saying nice things about Tris's housework. Aunt Uraelle had told Tris quite stringently that she wasn't to be trusted and that she would have to be watched over constantly to make sure that she did the work that Aunt Uraelle paid her to do.

At first, Tris hadn't. She had soaked in all the scraps of affection that Anlye tossed her way and couldn't even contemplate her having any faults. It wasn't until one day when they were polishing the silver. Aunt Uraelle insisted that it all had to be cleaned at once, even though nobody ever came to visit that would warrant it, and since Tris didn't know how, Anyle was tasked with teaching her. It had been amazing, Anyle had placed Tris in her lap while they worked--something Tris could only barely remember her mother doing with her--and had made a competition. If Tris did a better job than her, then Anyle would sing her two songs of Tris's choosing. Anyle didn't say what she wanted if she was the one who won.

In the end, it was clear that Anyle won, and Tris didn't begrudge her that. What Tris did begrudge is that Anyle's idea of a prize were two of the large silver spoons. She'd pocketed them with a wink and went to go finish some of the dusting. The child of merchants, she'd had the idea that stealing was wrong pounded into her head at an early age, and every relative she'd lived with had stressed that to her. It was possibly the only consistent thing of her childhood. So, Tris, her illusions shattered, went to Aunt Uraelle and told her what happened. Her aunt, to her surprise, didn't fire Anyle or throw out Tris, but ever since, Anyle had been decidedly cold. Tris didn't care too much, after all, it was obvious that Anyle had only been pretending in order to get things from her. It didn't count if it wasn't real.

Aunt Uraelle ended up being right. Less than a month after she'd told Tris she was dying, she was dead. The whole process had been incredibly unpleasant for Tris, as she'd had to see family members that had rejected her again and again. Fortunately, most of the them pretended she didn't exist. She still ended up crying into her aunt's dog more nights than not.

It wasn't until after the funeral was over and done and Tris had been placed in another house with one of her increasingly interchangeable older cousins, did she notice how odd it was that her parents didn't go to see Aunt Uraelle before she died. They hadn't even gone to the funeral. It took her a little longer to realize that they must have been avoiding her. She didn't last long with that cousin. Anger always made whatever it was that was wrong with her worse.

~~~

 _A series of delicate negotiations, involving large amounts of money, doubletalk, and food, are finally concluded, and a group of mimanders arrive in Ninver to see what they can see. One of them, the youngest and least tested, claims they saw a thunderstorm form out of nowhere, but it can't be substantiated and nothing can be concluded from it. Nevertheless, they all agree that something is happening and they discretely spread the word that Ninver may be dangerous_ _to other Traders. Third Ship Kisubo, never known for being a cautious ship, decides to avoid Capchen that year, and instead makes a tidy profit in the eastern part of the Pebbled Sea._

~~~

It took almost no time for Tris to be whisked away from the temple that she's made her home for the past few months and installed instead on a ship that will take her Emelan. The man who'd decided that for her had disappeared afterwards for most of the rest of the day to finish their travel arrangements, only to return right before the ship set sail completely furious. Tris knew enough not to disturb someone in such a mood even though she was almost unbearably curious as to why.

Later, after she could only barely see Capchen,Tris allowed herself to believe her most desperate hope for a moment, that Summersea will be different from Ninver, leaning over the side of the ship as far as she can, trying to angle as much of her body into the wind as possible. Then she put it aside. Tris is nothing if she isn't a Chandler, and Chandlers aren't anything if they aren't practical.

Her family has abandoned her, and they must have had a reason, and so, she'll be rejected again when she gets there. Although, in Ninver, they all known that her own parents had wanted nothing to do with her before they'd even talked to her, but, in Summersea, they wouldn't. Not unless that Nico told, and Tris didn't think he would, at least, not for a while.

She leaned forward even farther, to the alarm of the sailors, mind racing. That meant that it would take longer for them to figure out what it was about her that was so horrible. Maybe it would be different in that she could stay in one place for longer without having to leave. It's on this thought that Tris chose to end her contemplation and went back to her cabin. Niko had lent her what looked to be a fascinating book about ocean currents, and there clearly wasn't any point to her continuing to think about it today. She'd have the rest of the voyage to prepare herself for Summersea. Maybe she'd ask Niko if he had a book about Emelan next.

~~~

 _The strange weather in Ninver stops as suddenly as it started. This, like everything lately to do with the weather, causes the citizens to panic, but when it shows no sign of starting up again, eventually they relax. The more religiously minded attribute the change to the new temple to Tuhengri Stormlord, the political to the recent improvement in relations with Namorn, and the rest simply take it for granted. After all, the weather is nothing if not mysterious. Only a few suspect the real reason, and they all devoutly wish that Trisana Chandler will never set foot in Ninver again._

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in canon, Tris didn't have a happy childhood, and so this fic may be somewhat triggering with respect to neglect and emotional/verbal abuse.


End file.
